Swanson's Laced With Gold aka "Lacey" - RIP

On Monday night we said goodbye to the best friend I've ever known. Her love was unconditional and her desire to please was second to none. In addition to the hundreds of birds she returned to my hand, she also helped return me to a better place in my life. I got her while going through some troubling times, and she helped me transition from what I was before to what I am now. There's no doubt in my mind that I would not be the same person today if not for Lacey.

The cutest little yellow dog on the planet was born in Illinois on May 23, 2001 and died on December 10, 2012. She gave me 11-1/2 years of joy. She was the result of a second breeding, and I was lucky to have met one of the dogs from the first breeding, so I had a very good idea of what to expect. I was not disappointed! I sent in my deposit before she was born and received pictures right after she was born.

I picked her up at the Denver airport seven weeks later, and together we learned about love, retrieving, and friendship. I knew her call name would be Lacey, named after John Lacey who introduced the legislation known as the Lacey Act. The Lacey Act is a federal law that prohibits the importation of illegal wildlife and also prohibits the transportation of illegally taken wildlife over state lines. In just so happened that Lacey was born in Illinois, then flew out of Missouri to Tennessee, before arriving in Colorado. Nothing was illegal, but she crossed a bunch of state lines before she was even two months old!  Due to her coloring and how valuable she was to me, I decided her registered name should be Swanson's Laced With Gold.

For that first year, we trained every day. And when I say every day, I mean every day. If memory serves me correctly, not a single day went by that we didn't do some sort of training, even if it was just a few short retrieves or some "yard work" - sit, heel, here, etc. I am proud to say that she retrieved everything that I ever threw for her. There were a couple tough days, but every single bumper or live bird that was thrown for her, was delivered back to my hand.

Of course we did a ton of very in-depth training, thanks to my good friend Joel Harris. He was my boss at the time when we worked at the sporting clays/bird hunting facility for Gorsuch Outfitters. Joel and his wife also own Rocky Mountain Pet Resort in Yampa, CO and he breeds/trains labs for hunt tests and field trials. He took me under his wing and showed me the ins-and-outs of retriever training. Under his watchful and discerning eye, Lacey became the most well-behaved, best trained, and most accomplished hunting dog I have ever known.

We hunted in Arizona, Colorado, Kansas, and South Dakota for a bunch of different species. Here's what I think is a pretty complete list of all the bird species she has retrieved for me: Chukar, Sandhill Crane, Mourning Dove, White-Winged Dove, many duck species including Mallards and Teal, Canada Goose, Blue Grouse, Sharp-tailed Grouse, Pheasant, Pigeon, Bobwhite Quail, Gamble's Quail, and Scaled Quail.

Luckily, I carried a camera on many of those hunts so I have many photos to help me remember her. I also took photos of her just being the cool dog she was: hanging out around the house, going for hikes, going camping, playing with Ruby, playing with Mattox, etc. Many of those photos were before the digital age, so I'll just share a bunch that are not still in hard-copy...

Of all the time I spent with her there are a few things that stick out in my mind:

All Business
She was always a happy-go-lucky dog, but as soon as I put on her electric collar, she would turn all business. She would focus on me, and no one else, and give her best effort to please me. Her instant transformation from fun-and-games to work was remarkable.

Ice
On a cold, snowy day, we hunted ducks on the Eagle River with my best friend Rick. He snuck down on a herd of mallards and shot one as they jumped. He pushed them right to me, and I was lucky to shoot two. One died instantly, but the other just had a broken wing. It landed on the ice on the opposite side of the river.

I immediately sent Lacey for the retrieve, but before she could get there, the duck waddled off the ice into the river's current. Of course, Lacey turned to follow. The duck was swept under the ice and Lacey nearly was also. With just her face above the water and her collar caught on the ice, the current tried to pull her body downstream and under the ice. I had just enough time to throw my $2000 Beretta back on the shore, and as I turned back I just knew she would be gone. Thankfully, she continued to fight against the current as I used my elbows to break through the ice to get to her. I reached out and grabbed her collar to pull her from the current.

I had never been so close to losing a dog before. It was very traumatic for us both. Once back on dry land, I just hugged her until Rick made his way back down to us. We took some pictures that day and Lacey has a look on her face like I have never seen. She was clearly pissed...I think it scared us both!

The next day, I forced us both to get back on the horse again. We hunted a different part of the river and I dropped a duck on the ice on the far side. I sent her for the retrieve, but she did not want to do it. It took a little coaxing, but she finally got across the river and up on the ice. I was never so proud to have her make a retrieve!

Nichole and Mattox
Lacey instantly regarded Nichole as her mommy. It took a few years for me to convince Nichole that it should be official, but it was official in Lacey's mind from the start. (I actually think it was official in Nichole's mind, too!) As much as Lacey enjoyed hunting with me, she enjoyed hiking and playing in the snow with Nichole. Lacey was definitely not just my dog...she was a family dog. In fact, when Mattox was born, Lacey would always position herself between Mattox and the door. I remember Nichole and Mattox gently rocking in the rocking chair with Lacey curled up in front of the door to Mattox's room. As soon as I opened the door, she went in and laid down in front of them.

Other Dogs

Lacey thought she was more of a person than a dog. She really just didn't care about other dogs; she would ignore them. That all changed when we got Ruby. Since we never bred Lacey, we got the next best thing: Lacey's niece. She must have known from the start that Ruby was more than just another silly dog because Lacey let her play, chew on her lips, and crawl on her back. Lacey would often look at Ruby like "you are a complete yahoo" but she loved the new puppy and did more than just put up with her. Now that Ruby is alone, I can see pieces of Lacey in her!

I could go on and on with memories, but I think some more photos will have to suffice. Lacey was the nicest, softest, gentlest, most caring, friendliest, best behaved dog I have ever known. She taught me that no matter how crappy your day might be, a wet nose and wagging tail will make it better. They say that dogs come into your life and leave paw prints on your heart. This one also left lasting memories that have helped define who I am as a friend, husband, and father.

Littleone, you will be missed! I love you Sweetdog.

Gear Review: Patternmaster Chokes

Modern shotgunners rely on interchangeable chokes. It is far easier and more cost effective to screw a new choke into the end of a barrel than replace the entire barrel. A choke helps control the size of the shot pattern, typically based on its length and constriction. Shooters can use a choke suitable to the type of shooting they are doing: wide patterns for closer shots, tight patterns for longer shots. However, the folks at Patternmaster Chokes approach things a little differently.

You’ll have to check out the Patternmaster Chokes website for a full description of how and why their choke work so well, but I’ll give you a quick overview. Instead of standard chokes that constrict the shot and the wad as they leave the barrel to create more dense patterns, the Patternmaster Chokes have small studs inside the choke that slow down the wad for a split second. This allows the shot to leave the barrel unaffected by the wad, essentially keeping all the shot together in its already-dense pattern. In addition, the shot does not “funnel down” like it does leaving constricted tubes. The Patternmaster Chokes help keep a denser pattern both in terms of spread and more importantly, length. With a shorter shot string, more pellets arrive on target at the same time, which is very important when shooting anything that is moving.

My brother first started using a Patternmaster Choke quite a few years ago. After I bought a 12 gauge 3-1/2” Benelli Nova to use for sandhill cranes, waterfowling, and pheasants, I contacted Julie Leutenegger at Patternmaster. She graciously shipped me an Extended Range choke tube for the best patterning with 3-1/2” shells for the longer shots I expected on sandhill cranes and turkeys. After it performed so well, I also got the Long Range and Short Range chokes. I have used them all successfully on a variety of birds with 2-3/4”, 3”, and 3-1/2” shells.

They are available for almost every shotgun model available and come in silver or black and ported or unported. I chose black unported chokes to save my hearing and prevent glare. If you are looking at improving your patterning, take a close look at Patternmaster Chokes. Their motto is “The Science of Shot” and they have definitely taken shotgun patterning to a different level!

P.S. When you go to their website, check out the photo of the turkey hunter using a slate call in the “How Patternmaster Works” video inset. That’s a photo I took of my brother Erik! Then watch the video - it provides a great explanation of their chokes...


The black unported chokes don't cause as much glare and are safer for your hearing.


Patternmaster Chokes also come in silver ported versions.


Short Range Patternmaster Choke – (from top) Arizona Scaled Quail, Gambel’s Quail, and Mourning Dove


Long Range Patternmaster Choke – A limit of Kansas Pheasants


Long Range Patternmaster Choke – Kansas Bobwhite Quail


Long Range Patternmaster Choke – Arizona Greenwing Teal


Extended Range Patternmaster Choke – Arizona Sandhill Cranes


Extended Range Patternmaster Choke – Arizona Merriam’s Turkey

Have You Seen a Javelina?

During the first week of January, my friend Matt (you know Matt from Ohio) [Ohio Homes and Acres Real Estate] flew out to Arizona for some warm weather and archery hunting for javelina and mule deer. The weather didn’t cooperate—it was 20 degrees colder in Phoenix than in Columbus, and single digits at my house up in Chino Valley. The first night we found both javelina and deer, including a 160” 4x4. All were too far to give chase, but it definitely proved to be a good omen. We owe debt of gratitude to another friend, Rich, for sharing his spot with us!


Glassing for javelina and mule deer.


High Quality Optics and the Outdoorsmans Tripod

The next morning we saw no deer, but as soon as the sun hit the hillside, the javelina appeared no more than 10 yards from where we saw them the night before. From 3/4 of a mile away, the Swarovski 15’s clearly showed the little buggers. We made our way down to them and with just a few hundred yards to go, we stopped to cross a fence. I made it over with no problem, but the barbed wire broke as Matt perched precariously with one leg over the top and his left hand on the T-post. I was able to untangle his leg from the barbs (he had borrowed my warm pants and was trying to save them) but I could do nothing for his hand. I didn’t realize that the rusty, jagged top of the post gouged a two-inch gash into his palm. I took one quick look as he peeled away his torn glove and we were off to the emergency room for a bunch of skin trimming and eight stitches. Mental note: it is best to go through or under fences, not over them! That afternoon Nichole used her Athletic Training and Physical Therapy skills to fashion a splint for Matt so he could still draw his bow, so we headed back out for the evening but saw nothing.


The Offending Post


The Gash (before)


The Gash (needles and scissors and stitches, oh my!)


The Gash (after)

I awoke early on the second day to find Matt’s face nearly as green as the Realtree Max-1 camo he was wearing. He had been prescribed a painkiller and took one before going to sleep, but reacted poorly to it and was up half the night puking. We stayed home that morning, but Matt cowboyed up and we headed back out in the afternoon. We found the pigs again and gave chase, but the best we could muster was a shot at 62 yards as they paused on a snowy hillside—I missed!

On the third day we found the javelina again and after pinpointing their location headed after them. We circled around, crossed a fence (Matt went under it), and snuck in close. We expected them to feed towards us, but they stopped just over a rise. We stalked even closer until the wind swirled and a pig started to “huff, huff, huff.” I told Matt to move around the oak in front of us. I whispered, “Fast but quiet! Fast but quiet! Fast but quiet!” I think he thought I was crazy, but he made it around the oak and drew on the closest javelina as I ranged him at 17 yards. The arrow struck home so I ran up a few yards to try to pick up a straggler. The only straggler was the pig Matt just shot, so he shot again but missed. We then ran over to the edge of the draw and Matt finished his first javelina off with a Texas heart shot. “From the tooter to the rooter,” as Matt put it!


Matt’s first Western big game animal.


I was able to help Matt on his first successful Western spot and stalk hunt.


Packing Out


Matt borrowed my Badlands 2200 Pack, which made easy work of his javelina.

We had a great lunch at a small café, and then headed back to our glassing spot for a siesta before the evening glass. Late in the day we finally found the pigs—where there once were 12, now there were 11. They were near a herd of does, but too far away to make a play on them so we left them for the next day.

We made it back to our glassing spot before light the following morning to make sure no other hunters beat us to it. After a quick nap, we awoke to another bright morning. It didn’t take long to locate the javelina on the same hill. It’s a good thing they are so predictable! This time I directed Matt to a hill overlooking the pigs so he could glass and direct me to them. He had never used radios, and nearly had a coronary as I snuck in to within 50 yards of the entire herd. The closest pig that offered the first open shot was at 28 yards. I slowly drew, pressed my release, and missed wide to the left. I quickly nocked another arrow, ranged another pig, drew, released, and missed again to the left! With the pigs scattered to the winds, I sat tight as Matt picked them up again. He directed me to them, but his radio died before I made it. The only thing he could do was frantically press the call button, which registered as just a bunch of clicks to me, but made me stop and glass back at him. With archaic sign language he told me the pigs were right there. I moved a few yards downhill and shot the first pig that gave me a chance. It turns out the shot at less than 20 yards was on the pig furthest from me. There were a few less than five yards away that I couldn’t see! I hit her a little left, but she went less than five yards before breaking my arrow and expiring. I finally made my Hoyt Trykon do it's job! Where there once were 12, now there were 10.

This javelina marked my first with a bow. I have now shot them with a rifle, a pistol, and a bow. Maybe next year I'll try with my T/C Omega muzzleloader or my T/C Contender pistol in .30-30. With two pigs in the dirt, it was time for Matt and I to focus on mule deer.


My first archery javelina - with Matt's help!
(Yes, there's a pig in that picture and yes, it's bigger than a dirt clod but not by much!)

Bird Dogs, Roosters, and Babies

What more is there in life? We headed back to Nichole’s family farm in Kansas for the holidays and to chase the wily rooster pheasants. First, I got to warm up the shotgun and the dogs on a few pesky pigeons. Three shots led to three dead birds! Ruby retrieved the first, Lacey found the second on a blind retrieve, and Ruby picked up the third. It was a great start!


Warming Up On Pigeons

On Ruby’s first pheasant hunt and what I thought might have been Lacey’s last, a bunch of birds exploded from a field corner with both dogs in the heavy cover. After missing the first rooster, I connected on the next and watched with tears in my eyes as the dogs worked together to find the downed bird. With more energy and much younger legs, Ruby found the dead bird first and delivered it to my hand.


Swanson’s Prairie Red Gemstone aka “Ruby” - First Pheasant Retrieve

I had to throw it for Lacey, too!


Passing the torch from Lacey (right) to Ruby… their first pheasant together!


Swanson’s Laced With Gold aka “Lacey”


It also allowed me the opportunity to show Mattox his first pheasant. He loved the bright colors and soft feathers!

The next night a storm blew in that dropped a couple inches of snow, perfect for bunching up the birds and tracking. Heath and I headed out early and found one bird in the tree row south of his sheds. I dropped it in the middle of two nearly-impenetrable cedar rows, so by the time I forced my way through with snow cascading down my back, the bird was gone. There were dog tracks completely circling the spot in the snow where the bird fell, but no dog in sight either. Then from out of the dense tree row, Ruby came bounding with the bird held proudly in her mouth—her second retrieve of a pheasant was a runner! We hunted a few more spots and I ended up with three birds while Heath bagged one. Not too bad for three hours of hunting…


Kansas pheasants in the snow… I can’t think of anything better!

And for a little historical perspective: My Dad and his friends started hunting pheasants in Kansas in 1972 (the year I was born) when Nebraska shortened its season and lowered the bag limit. They have made it back nearly ever year since. I started joining them as soon as they would let me, and although I've missed a few years, it is still one of my favorite places to hunt!


My first pheasant hunting trip to Kansas as a bundled-up 6-year-old.